


To share his sleep (my honor and privilege)

by Ficlet-Machine (Wordsmith)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Love, M/M, Mentions of Aggra, Not Canon Compliant, Possible OOCness, Thrall and Aggra is not a thing, Thrall being sentimental, Trolls are full-body blushers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsmith/pseuds/Ficlet-Machine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the quiet hours of the night, with no-one there to disturb their time, Thrall thinks about Vol'jin, their bond, and how purple is a beautifull colour on Vol'jin's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To share his sleep (my honor and privilege)

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this ficlet has refused to leave me alone for a good three weeks now. I just wanted something sweet and fluffy for the both of them. This is not canon compliant in any way, and please be kind if you find any errors in spelling/grammar. I apologise for any OOCness, I have a bad habit of twisting characters around to see if I can make it work. And, I guess I have developed a thing for Vol'jin being awkward regarding some things in life.

Thrall woke up the very same second he hit the floor. He managed to keep himself from cursing out loud, and instead gave a displeased grunt at the pain shooting up his spine from where he landed on his ass. This whole falling out of bed thing had been going on since he was young, and he was glad that he had been allowed his own room throughout most of his time in the Horde. Thrall wasn't embarrassed by many things, but the thought of it becoming known among the Horde that the Warchief had a more or less permanently bruised posterior from all the full contact fights with his floor boards was definitely one of those things.  
It had sure as hell amused Vol'jin in the beginning. The troll would without fail, wake up, laugh at Thrall, and then hoist all his many pounds of muscular adult male orc back up in bed and ask if the war chief was so hungry for a fight he had to take it out on the poor floor boards. Those comments would have sounded embarrassing enough in orc, when spoken in the troll's Zandali drawl it made Thrall seriously contemplate going hermit in a cave somewhere far from any living creature that could witness his shame. But that was years ago now, and Vol'jin had long since learned to sleep through it as long as Thrall kept his sleeping antics somewhat quiet.

The orc sighed to himself, before slowly creeping back into bed and attempting to reclaim at least a corner of the thick blanket covering them so he wouldn't freeze his ass off on top of everything. Maybe they really should get another blanket, he mused to himself as he gently untangled the knot that was ten feet of sinewy arms and legs commonly known as Vol'jin so that he could get the blanket the troll had wrapped himself around like an unusually thick vine. But Thrall had learned a few tricks over the years since they first started sharing a bed, and soon he'd managed not only to free the entire blanket, but also coax the sleeping troll to put his head on Thrall's chest and wrap an arm and a leg around him. It had taken a while before he'd mastered the art of moving sleeping troll chieftains without cutting himself on a razor sharp tusk or two. It was well worth it, because it both kept him in bed and helped prevent the nightmares that seemed to have plagued Vol'jin since before they even met. Thrall could endure an eternity without sleep if it meant Vol'jin could sleep better.

Raking his hands through the impossibly red locks that usually formed an equally impossible mohawk, getting a bit tangled up in a piece of fabric that had once belonged to Thrall's robe, and now served as a mark of their bond, Thrall felt himself struggling for breath under a wave of love and adoration for this strange, bold, stubborn, reckless, over-thinking troll that had honored him with his affection. Somewhere along the way, Vol'jin had become so important to him that a life without him by his side became impossible to even think about. Others may not understand how the hell an orc and a troll could form a bond of this kind, but neither of them cared. They didn't need to explain, justify, or prove anything to anyone. The only opinion that mattered was Aggra's, and she had blessed them from the very beginning. There were things in this world she wished to see and do without having to drag a mate around with her, and they had parted as the best of friends. After that it had still taken nearly a year for Thrall to bring up the subject of their feelings with the stressed out and - as far as feelings went - incredibly shy troll. Stating that he wished to be Vol'jin's mate had caused Vol'jin to blush so hard he essentially turned purple from head to toe. Thrall had no idea trolls were full body blushers until that moment. But it was a very pretty purple, and he had said so, and promptly got hit in the face by a bony fist. Six months later, they bonded.   
Vol'jin was still shy about most things that didn't in some way relate to fighting, drinking, shagging, eating, and scheming. He could cross a whole lot of boundaries with a cheeky grin and a glint in his eye. But feelings made him all awkward, and Thrall couldn't help but love the ridiculousness of it. Vol'jin was the war chief of the Horde, a warrior through and through, a great leader who deserved the respect of all his subject far more than Thrall ever did - but he blushed bright purple every time Thrall told him he loved him or, spirits forbid, showed him affection in public.

Lucky thing Thrall liked purple.

He kissed Vol'jin's messy hair, before easing into a more comfortable position. It was still hours to go before they had to get up, and Thrall was not one to waste any time he could spend in the company of his mate and leader. He took pride in being the only one allowed to see him like this. The only one to share his sleep.


End file.
